But then there’s a hand in his hair, the scrape of nails over his scalp and the sharp pain as his head is yanked back. His thoughts scramble in confusion, trying to understand how she has managed to grab hold of his hair and tug him backwards, while both hands are pinned to the bed. A fleeting thought, chased away by a new terror, as an arm goes around his neck and he feels himself drawn backwards off the bed. The heat of another body presses through him, and he can feel laboured breathing close to his ear. As he is dragged off the bed, his feet scramble for their footing, almost slipping beneath him, but somehow he remains upright, and it is this one triumph that turns things to his advantage. He is taller than his assailant, and as he stands to his full height, their grasp around his neck breaks in a sudden cry of pain. A high-pitched yelp.

He turns and she throws herself against him, fists pummelling ineffectually at his chest, and for a moment, he is so astonished, he can hardly react. Red hair falling forward, freckled limbs, her dress a riot of colour. Hilary. She is clawing at him now, like a wildcat, and he grabs her wrists, wrenching them away from his face. Fury rises in him, like a seething ball of irritation. What is she doing here? Why must she always stick her nose into his business? He’s sick of her interference, her demands. She’s a pest and he wants to be rid of her, once and for all.

He’s easily stronger than her and, after a quick scuffle, he’s able to twist her around so that her back is to him, his hands groping for purchase on her flesh, grasping her beneath her breasts. He’s holding her so close, as close as lovers, and he feels her braced against him.

‘Let me go!’ she cries, plucking at his sleeve, one hand reaching back to claw his face.

But he’s intent now on his task. As he drags her from the room, his eyes go to Leah, her body lying still on the bed. Not long now, my love, he thinks, but his breath is labouring in his chest and he cannot speak. Hilary is small but she has a wiry strength, and is fighting hard against him, kicking out at his ankles and shins, scratching at the skin of his arms, his face.

Together, they lurch through the doorway, out into the hall. His mind is on the staircase – it’s right there to the left. If he can just get her there, get her down the stairs … Then he can get back to the business at hand. The business of dying.